


Yavanna's Gift

by laEsmeralda



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 06:09:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laEsmeralda/pseuds/laEsmeralda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short distance from the Hornburg, there is more sustenance for hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yavanna's Gift

The tree is enormous. Old. Aware. She stands alone, far from the forest edges. 

The one she has sensed at a distance, a Firstborn, dismounts and circles her on foot. He travels with another, not of his kind, who watches from horseback. 

She speaks to the circling creature, softly, her gray bark inviting his touch. He touches. "Oh." His voice resonates low. 

The rider does not ask why the Firstborn reacts so. Instead, he swings a leg over his saddle and slides to the earth. The horses move away together to graze. He speaks gently as if afraid to disturb the deep silence of the place. "I did not know if it would affect you as it does us, Legolas. It commands absolute reverence, does it not?" 

Careful fingers trace the channels and whorls of her mossy surface. The Secondborn do not touch her this way. She loves him instantly. He is a special child, for she feels his sorrow and his joy for life as inseparable.

"She does not affect me as she does you, Éomer." Legolas whispers. His voice, though he corrects, holds no reprimand. He pulls his hand away for a moment, and she knows that he is struggling to regain his sense of place and time. "Was it only out of curiosity that you brought me here?" he asks.

Éomer steps closer, placing a supportive hand on his back. "I wanted you to know that it... she is here. It seems important to know, in these times, that such old ones still exist."

She compels him, _Legolas_ , to touch her again. He places his other hand on her bark, completing the link. She reaches for him with the power of the earth beneath her, and he stifles a moan. His legs, steady in battle, are trembling. 

"Are you well?" Éomer asks in distress, bringing his other hand to Legolas' side. "Should we take our leave?" He snaps his fingers and both horses raise their heads. "Firefoot," he softly calls. 

The horse snorts and begins to approach. The tree gently wards him away. Firefoot tosses his head in confusion. She reassures him in whispers that only his kind can hear. " _Keep your distance, kelva, be patient, I only aid your companion._ "

"I think... you should go," Legolas says. "I will not leave until this is finished. And I do not think it seemly for you to stay." 

She feels his vibration in response to her desire, he opens to her, showing her his core, that spark of walking life that she has craved, and she rewards him for it. She senses that he can barely muster the desire to speak. She remembers, dimly, the words they use for themselves, _human_ and _elf_.

"What dark manipulation is at work here?" Éomer grabs Legolas by the shoulders, supporting him. 

"It is a spell of the Vala, Yavanna, a gift to this _olva_ to draw us near, nothing dark. It is only that the creature has not been visited by my kind for many years. You must go now, my friend."

"Creature? This is a _tree_ , Legolas."

"Yes, a tree, but do not only look with your eyes. You must trust me. This feeling that you have toward her, it is but a small part of what I feel. Again, my friend, I warn you away."

"I will not leave. Had I known this could harm you, I would not have brought you here."

Legolas turns and in doing so loses his balance, falling back with his shoulders against the tree. At the greater contact, she speaks nearly loud enough to be heard by human ears. She knows that Legolas hears her clearly and understands her language. _"Stay with me for a time, elfling, I will not keep you longer than I should. I comprehend the measure of your time and the deeds awaiting you. I will not keep you overlong."_

He laughs. She feels that he laughs at being called an elfling and responds with a mirthful shivering of leaves. In truth, she is but an age the elder.

"Marshal of the Mark, go back to the Hornburg," Legolas gasps. "I am not harmed. If you worry for me, and you need not, at least withdraw to where you cannot be troubled." 

Éomer stands fast. He is holding Legolas by the shoulder and hip. The tree waits.

"Forgive me," Éomer says as he shifts his weight to carry Legolas, "but you are not yourself. I will see you safely back."

"Nay, my friend," Legolas says, resisting being lifted, "I am very much myself. You are not accustomed to seeing _this_ in me. I want it, this feeling. I have been too long in my armor of dignity and patience. She knows this." His resistance is the stronger power, and Éomer cannot lift him. 

"What is it, then, that I am unaccustomed to seeing in you?"

"Lust, Éomer. You must recognize it."

Her time is slow, and she has time to understand each moment of action in the fast beings. The tree feels that contact with the human is not helping the elf maintain coherence. His back is warm against her and he is crushed against the other being. Legolas moans almost too softly to be heard, but she hears his want and need. She would give him whatever release is in her power. If he wants this man, she will give him this man if she can. She reaches for Éomer through Legolas' body. Instantly upon finding the human's spark, she feels that she need not coax him. He is holding himself back.

The tiny sound of Legolas' desire has an immediate effect. Éomer groans and buries his face in the elf's hair.

Legolas speaks as if in pain. "Let go of me and step away. If you do not, things will change between us very quickly." 

She knows that he says what he feels must be said, not what he wishes to say.

"Let them change." Éomer presses Legolas back into the tree with his body. The tree feels the man unfolding every muscle and nerve against her elfling. She approves.

"When it is finished, when the power of the earth has moved on, what will you think of me then?" Legolas whispers.

"It is not the tree, or the earth, for me," Éomer breathes into the white neck. "It is having you close. Having you in my arms. I have dreamed it in my waking dreams."

She feels the elf's shock but she does not understand it. The man's confession takes Legolas' breath and seems to pain him. But it also pleases him. 

He speaks with ambivalence. "I cannot say the same, as this part of me has been locked away for a long time. I would not wish to treat you unfairly. And I will not know the truth until later."

"I am my own person. Do not underestimate me." Éomer's voice seems to echo in the clearing.

The energy of the two is moving at cross-purposes, thwarted, unable to connect. She searches for the impediment and finds it deep in the Firstborn. It is like a rock in the way of a baby root. She feels around it instead of trying to push it away, and he gives. His head falls back against her and he cries to the sky, "Éomer!"

She feels the ferocity as they connect, like rogue lightning in the summer, dangerous and exciting, striking ever nearer. 

Clothing is torn, shirts rend, laces are flung away, but her elf's back remains pressed to her. She does not understand this craving he has, this desire to be bored into, but it is desperate. She senses that the human understands. She can feel him through the elf. 

Their mouths are locked as Éomer pulls away the last bit of cloth that might impede them. He pauses. He has not hesitated in any way yet, so she attends to it. He is feeling at Legolas with gentle fingers, and his mind is concerned. 

Legolas tears his mouth free. "Do it," he hisses, and she feels the consumption of his spark by this one need. She reaches for the human, to explain as best she can, that Legolas is not weak and he need not be concerned. But permission is all he needed.

Holding himself, Éomer seeks his entry. When he finds it, he is not gentle, and Legolas accepts him with a cry of absolute joy. The tree resonates with his pleasure. His response spills back through her, carrying tales of the generations of Firstborn who have led to him, the begettings, the love, the hatred, the petty thieveries. It is a story of the many leading to the one. A story she has heard before, though each is unique, like her leaves.

Éomer speaks words she does not comprehend. He is almost violent, yet she knows that every touch, every breath, is meant to please and not to harm. 

She also knows that the being caught between them will not break. He has needed someone to be this strong, to hold him, to take his body to understand his mind. His words to Éomer are like singing, and then when he comes, it is for her like a ray of sun breaking through winter skies.

One of the man's hands grips her so tightly that she fears damage. The other arm supports Legolas though the elf's legs are wrapped around his waist. "Do you know?" Éomer whispers.

Legolas' limbs tighten around Éomer. "It is you," he groans, "just you."

She hears the truth. She has opened him to the truth. At this moment, vibrating with his pleasure, she is connected to every living thing she has shut out in this dark time. She feels the anguish of those consumed by hatred, who would claw their own skins, eat their own young, to be freed. She feels the hope of those who love, who would stand and fight or stand to be cut down if it would save the others. She feels the gentle nibble of the _kelvar_ feeding, the growing pains of the new _olvar_ seeking the sunlight. And she feels her elder kin, falling, cast away, mouldering to nourish the next generations. 

Then, she feels the human as if he is an explosion, a lightning strike to her roots. He cries the elf's name, and it is no surprise to her. At last he gasps, leaning, holding her so as not to bear them both to the ground beneath.

She is still. It is her way, to observe, to absorb, to breathe out the invisible thing that all need to survive.

"What will we do?" asks Legolas through quiet tears.

"We will fight. Likely die. But Sauron cannot take from me what you just gave." With a tender hand, Éomer dries half the face clasped to his. 

She holds them both in her care for a little time longer. The human is unusual for his kind. So is the elf. They are suited. She hopes they realize this now.

"Are you well?" asks Éomer.

Éomer could not harm Legolas were the man ten times stronger, but the tree thrills that he worries so for her elfling's care. As does she. 

"I am replete," replies Legolas as the man leaves his body. "You?"

Éomer groans. "There are no words," he replies.

The tree agrees.

**Author's Note:**

> Written May 2004. Beta: Libitina.


End file.
